


The 5 Times Wilbur and Techno spoke Piglin (+1 Time everyone realised they were twins)

by ikawritesthings



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: (ive seen that tag and i think its funny), 5+1 Things, Manberg Festival on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Piglin Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Traitor Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Traitor Wilbur Soot, Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, i just like the twin au a lot, im not really sure what else to tag, no beta we die like WIlbur on the 16th, they can speak piglin basically thats the plot, wilburs death is only referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikawritesthings/pseuds/ikawritesthings
Summary: The times Wilbur and Techno spoke Piglin to each other, as told from outside perspectives.(5+1 Things format :])
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 1110





	The 5 Times Wilbur and Techno spoke Piglin (+1 Time everyone realised they were twins)

**1\. Quackity**

Weak. He felt weak. His legs were like heavy weights that he had to drag along behind him, as he barely felt any sensation below his ribcage where the fireworks had struck. Respawning was never pleasant, hence why people tried to avoid 'dying' as much as possible - it took a lot of physical and mental energy to respawn, and it was never a guarantee that you would. In hindsight, Quackity should've taken about ten, or even twenty steps back when he saw Technoblade's firework-loaded crossbow less than a metre away from him and ready to fire. It was naive to think he wouldn't be caught in the blast radius - and he could've so easily avoided the pain and the situation he was currently in. 

Schlatt's voice carried through the air like a disease, reaching Quackity's ears as he rounded the tall, grey building that bordered the perimeters of the festival. How the man got back so quickly was unknown, his spawn point must've been set nearby, as he now stood proudly on the podium, leering down at two figures stood in the middle of the crowd. One clad in full glowing netherite, the other in nothing but a dirty brown coat and grey beanie. The armoured figure had their shield held up so it protected the other, sword clutched tightly in their free hand. As Quackity got closer, he recognised Wilbur's voice, negotiating with Schlatt, who simply laughed and addressed the other person instead, 

"Technoblade, what are you doing?" 

Ah, it was Technoblade. As Quackity's vision became less fuzzy, he finally noticed the telltale long pink hair and red cloak that he'd somehow passed over in his initial observation. 

"Well, I'm tryin' to protect Wilbur, but he's making it pretty difficult." Came the snarky response. Definitely Technoblade. Quackity blinked, taking a second to steady himself before stumbling further into the crowd of festival go-er's, getting close enough to pick up on the hushed conversation being shared between the two outlaws. 

Perhaps it was due to the lingering fuzziness from his recent respawn, or maybe it was Schlatt monologuing loudly into his microphone about something Quackity didn't have the mental space to process at that moment, but Technoblade and Wilbur's conversation sounded warbled and mixed. Though he couldn't understand the words, their tones were snippy - syllables sharp and cut short like they were arguing. Wilbur's eyebrows were knitted together and his lips turned downwards into a frown, whilst Technoblade's eyes seemed distant and uninvolved. 

Yet, despite the obvious tension between the pair, Technoblade did not, for a single second, lower his defensive stance - or alter it so he wasn't covering for Wilbur as well, even if that meant he was more exposed. 

Quackity sunk to the ground, legs finally giving out to the stress he'd put them through so soon after waking up (the sprinting was probably not the best idea). He would later recount the experience to a half-listening Schlatt, who would then attribute his misunderstanding of Wilbur and Technoblade's conversation to his injury and dismissing any "fucking ridiculous" theories about it being an ancient language and saying that the boy needed to "hop outta the goddamn crazy train and do some fuckin’ paperwork." Quackity supposed that was the most reasonable explanation, and buried the issue deep in the back of his mind. 

Even if it still bothered him sometimes when he laid down to sleep at night.

_("I thought you were on our side, Techno. You told me you were on our side."_

_"I am on your side, idiot."_

_"You killed Tubbo. Under Schlatt’s orders."_

_"I'm sure he respawned somewhere! What else was I meant to do, take on 20 guys in full netherite with half my ammunition missin’ and no potions? Besides, I'm also standin' in enemy territory with no rockets trying to protect your dumbass."_

_"..."_

_"Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now finish your negotiations, I got potatoes to harvest back in Pogtopia.”)_

**2\. Tubbo**

The festival hadn't gone to plan. Obviously. Tubbo had been bloody publicly executed by someone who they thought was on their side, Tommy had lost his temper, Wilbur's TNT had been disconnected, and Technoblade and Tommy had fought, tooth and nail, despite Tubbo's insistence on forgiving the anarchist for what he'd done. Truthfully, he understood why Techno did what he did. He was there on that podium, he could see the hesitance in the man's eyes, the way he trembled slightly and threw constant glances over his shoulder. He didn't hold it against him, unlike Tommy. His friend had been livid, from what he heard, pearling onto the podium and attacking him as chaos unfolded around them, and once they returned to Pogtopia he needed about ten minutes to confirm for himself that Tubbo was okay, that he was uninjured and alive. 

That led them to where they were now, Tubbo leaving Tommy's room after spending the evening tending to the scrapes and cuts he'd gotten in both the pit fight and the festival battle. He felt awful that his friend had been hurt because of him, and decided the least he could do was to make sure he was taken care of, despite the boy's insistence on being a 'big man' and 'never feeling pain.' 

(Tubbo saw the way Tommy winced when he thought he wasn't looking. It hurt.) 

The boy stepped out of the room, narrowly avoiding treading on discarded weapons as he made his way to his own bed for the night. In the middle of the ravine, he came across Technoblade, sat with his back against the wall, heavy golden crown laying by his side along with his red-stained cloak and sash. His usually tidy, braided hair fell like a waterfall around his face, the pink strands matted with dried blood and dirt. Idly, Tubbo realised that was probably _his_ blood. He shivered. 

Wilbur was also there, standing up straight from where he'd been hunched over, rummaging through their chests. He made eye contact with Tubbo, blinking like a deer in the headlights. The air was rife with tension, almost suffocating. 

"Hey, Tubbo," Wilbur's raspy voice caught Techno's attention, who was unusually relaxed. Or maybe even tired. He didn't react to Tubbo's footsteps, as he normally would, instead keeping his head tipped slightly backwards against the stone, eyes shut closed. However, at Wilbur's greeting, he partially opened one eye, giving Tubbo a once over before closing it again. Only now, he was clearly more tense; before, his shoulders seemed relaxed and loose, whereas now they were pulled tight, as if prepared to defend himself at any moment. 

“Hi, Will.” Tubbo smiled, walking past Technoblade as quietly as he could, “Tommy’s asleep, I think I’m gonna clock out too.”

“Fair enough. Is he alright? Are… Are you alright?”

Tubbo sighed, he was too exhausted to have this loaded conversation right now. Will seemed to realise this, waving the other boy off. In his raised hand, Tubbo noticed he held a roll of bandages, “Ah, talk about it tomorrow. We could all do with some rest,” he returned the smile, eyes warm, as he passed by the younger boy and headed towards Technoblade, “Good night, Tubbo.”

“Good night, Wilbur… Technoblade.”

The other man opened his eyes slightly at his name, giving a nod of acknowledgement. It was enough for Tubbo, who turned and continued on down the ravine towards the room he called his own. As he walked away, he caught the faint beginnings of a conversation between the other two men - Techno’s volume low and voice rough, and the words indistinguishable. Tubbo briefly recalled a conversation he and Tommy had once had, the other boy complaining about the pair always talking in ‘their own fucking language’ and how he could ‘never understand them, so they were obviously making fun of me.’ Tubbo thought he simply meant slang, or code words, but as he lay down in his makeshift bed, he came to the conclusion that his friend was probably being more literal than he originally thought.

Too tired for further analysis, he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. The next day, he’d forget he ever heard the conversation almost entirely, repressing it along with the traumatic events of the newly named Red Festival.

_(“Sorry for killing Tubbo.”_

_“Sorry for encouraging Tommy to punch you. Does this hurt?”_

_“Nah. Thank you for patching me up.”_

_“Of course, Tec.”_

_“...”_

_“... Want me to help comb out your hair?”_

_“... Yes please.”)_

**3\. Fundy**

To say Wilbur looked like shit was the greatest understatement in all of Dream SMP history, the poor man looked like he was on the brink of insanity and ready to snap at any given moment. His eyes, once warm and welcoming, were now empty, dark pools devoid of any emotion. The only time you could ever see an inch of a soul or humanity behind them was when he’d go on his long, psychotic tangents about the TNT he’d rigged underneath L’Manberg, and how desperately he wanted to blow it all up. The once poetic and flowery language he’d use to describe the future of the nation he and his fellow revolutionaries had fought for were now lost to the sands of time, only evidenced by his old writings and letters that were quietly tucked away beneath Fundy’s home. It was clear to everyone that the Wilbur they knew, with the warm eyes, honey-like singing voice and beautiful words was as good as gone, the man’s sanity barely hanging on by a fraying thread. Even now, as they gathered troops in the dark ravine of Pogtopia for a final briefing before they headed to war, Fundy could tell that Wilbur wasn’t present. 

He was stood there, yes, but he wasn’t really there. His hollow eyes did nothing but stare down at the ground, as if he was trapped in his own mind, an inescapable prison. 

It hurt. It hurt so much. Looking at the man who raised him, so broken and defeated, knowing that it was partially his fault. The words ‘Wilbur is nothing to me’ mocked Fundy, laughing at his guilt. He didn’t deserve to feel guilty. He didn’t deserve to feel sad. He betrayed his father, never explaining his motive and practically leaving the man to rot in a cave and lose his fucking mind. He abandoned him the same way he condemned his mother for doing all those years ago. It was hard to imagine what it was like for Tommy - the boy was so young, and had to watch someone he considered a friend slowly drive themself to insanity, all while dealing with the brunt of his aggression on his own.

Truthfully, Fundy was glad Technoblade had arrived when he did. From what he’d seen, the man seemed to act as a pillar of stability for Wilbur. He was the one keeping the thread from fraying any further. He was doing what Fundy felt he’d failed at.

Protecting Wilbur. The man he owed everything to.

Technoblade was an intimidating presence, and yet despite that he seemed to know how to bring Wilbur back to Earth after a break. It somewhat fascinated Fundy, who now felt so distanced from his father that he could do nothing but watch and over-analyse his interactions with everyone close to him.

For example: now, as everyone was confirming positions and strategies, Fundy watched as Technoblade glanced down to the man standing at his side. Upon noticing his blank gaze, he gave him a small nudge and murmured something Fundy couldn’t make out. Wilbur’s head shot up, blinking a couple times to ground himself before turning his attention to Technoblade with a smile. They shared a few words, which Fundy still for the life of him couldn’t understand, before Technoblade sighed and placed a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder, saying something else. Except, this time Fundy realised they weren’t even speaking English. Perhaps, he thought, that was Technoblade’s secret. He knew that Wilbur wasn’t from the SMP - he’d always been told by the likes of Dream and Sapnap that he, Tommy and Tubbo had just appeared one day from foreign lands and made themselves a home in the Dream SMP territory. That meant it was possible that the two men came from the same hometown or settlement that spoke a special, native tongue that only they could understand. Though it seemed a bit outlandish, especially considering Fundy hardly remembered hearing Wilbur speaking anything but English in his childhood. He did remember a piece of paper he once found, formatted as if it was a letter, but instead of words, the paper was scrawled with what looked like nothing but scribbles to Fundy’s child brain. Wilbur had taken it from him when he looked up from his book, reminding the boy not to snoop before locking the paper away in a drawer. Fundy just assumed he was embarrassed of his handwriting, (even though, as an adult, he knew Wilbur had some of the neatest handwriting he’d ever seen.)

The pair shared a final look, millions of words seemingly exchanged in a single glance, before the pink haired man sighed and dropped his hand. Addressing the whole group, he explained he had resources to share, and a base to show-off, and began to lead them up the stone stairway. 

Whilst Fundy was confused about his newest revelation, he didn’t have time to think or even ask questions. A mere hour later he was thrust into the battle of his life, all thoughts of Technoblade and Wilbur’s strange connection replaced by adrenaline and the need to survive to see another sunrise.

_(“You in there, Will?”_

_“Hm? Oh, yes! Sorry, just lost in thought.”_

_“I saw. Thinkin’ about your... err, Plan B?”_

_“Mhm."_

_“You actually gonna do it? Blow it all up?”_

_“Yeah! Yeah, of course!”_

_“... Just don’t get hurt.”_

_“Don’t worry. I won’t.”_

_“Promise?”_

_“... Yeah.”)_

**4\. Niki**

The vault was impressive, really, really impressive. Niki’s breath was practically knocked out of her lungs when she descended the ladder into Technoblade’s underground bunker, lined wall to wall in chests and built around the unbreakable bedrock found in the deepest of caves. The five sets of fully enchanted netherite armour stood imposingly at the end of the vault, and as everyone swarmed the chests to equip themselves for battle, excitedly praising Technoblade for his commitment to the cause, and some even yelling in disbelief at the sheer amount of riches in front of them, Niki paused for a moment to take it all in.

Honestly, the baker expected nothing less of the infamous Blood God. She’d heard stories from an excitable Tommy about how he would take down hordes of monsters with his bare hands, defeat entire battalions with nothing but an iron sword, and take over a Kingdom at the age of sixteen. While she wasn’t sure how much was actually true and how much Tommy had embellished, she was admittedly intimidated by the prospect of someone so strong joining their ranks. After meeting him, though, and seeing how he acted with the people he cared for, Niki understood that Technoblade was no different to the rest of them. He was no God, he was just extremely skilled. He wasn’t immortal, he got hurt like everyone else. He wasn’t emotionless, he cared for his friends, just in his own way.

Niki had noticed, specifically, the way he and Wilbur would interact. Wilbur hadn’t spoken about Technoblade much before, unless he was prompted, though the few times Niki had asked he seemed to light up and praise the man endlessly. It was clear the two had a special bond, almost that of brothers, with the way they seemed to know one another inside and out. Because of this, she wasn’t surprised to see the surplus of items the man had collected; it wasn’t because he was extremely devoted to taking down the Schlatt Administration - even though taking down the government seemed to definitely be a strong factor in his willingness to help - but it was because he didn’t want to see his friends hurt in another War. It was especially clear as he ran around, handing Tommy tipped arrows, Tubbo some healing potions, and argued with Wilbur over his no armour policy before dragging him to the corner where an ender chest sat.

As she was replacing her own armour with some that was on the stands, at Technoblade’s passing insistence, Niki tuned into the conversation that Wilbur and Technoblade were sharing. Wilbur stood leaning against the back wall, watching everyone mull about as the other dug through his chest searching for a particular item. Wilbur turned, clearly making some sort of snarky comment that caused the anarchist to roll his eyes and laugh. Despite being able to speak multiple languages, Niki couldn’t discern what Wilbur had said, nor what Technoblade said in a response that earned the most lively laugh she’d heard from Will in months. She quickly realised what it was - as unlike a lot of the others, she’d studied many languages in depth throughout the years. Although she couldn’t translate, the general tone and way of speaking told her enough to know it was an ancient language of non-human origin. Those types of languages were difficult for humans to learn, (she tried once to learn a method of communicating with Endermen, and gave up in record time), so she was impressed by how natural the two sounded as they threw what sounded like playful banter back and forth. 

Technoblade finally rose, handing an enchanted golden apple to Wilbur, who graciously accepted and went to follow as everyone else climbed up the ladder and towards the exit. Niki approached Technoblade as he took a final inventory of his items, eager to ask questions.

“Technoblade?”

“Yep?”

“What was that language you and Will were speaking just now? I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I’m sorry. It’s just that, I’ve studied so many and didn’t recognise it.”

“Uhhh, yeah. You wouldn’t. It doesn’t really have a name, it’s just what we grew up speaking.” The man began to walk towards the exit, clearly anxious to get on the battlefield.

“Oh, I see... Well, will you tell me more when we win?” 

He took a second to laugh, sheathing his sword,

“Yeah, sure. If you still like me by then.”

With that ominous statement, he left Niki alone in the vault, slightly fearful of what that comment could imply.

_(“You spend so much time farming in Pogtopia, when the hell did you have time to get all this stuff?”_

_“I’m just too good, man, I don’t know what to say to you.”_

_“More like you don’t bloody sleep. Technoblade, the feared Blood God! Only known weakness: sleep deprivation.”_

_“Well, someone had to make sure the goblin children had the weapons to survive at least thirty seconds!”_

_“HA!”)_

**5\. Eret**

War was never without injuries, Eret knew. He knew that you could never walk into a battle and expect to emerge unscathed - and if you did? Well... you're as good as dead. Cockiness wasn't a trait found in those victorious. Those who planned well, prepared well, and were constantly ready for an ambush or injury survived in war. Even when you have the upper hand, you can never relax. Even when the battle is over, the war continues. Once agreements and treaties are signed, you can rest. Until then, you are to remain constantly vigilant if you want to stay alive. That's the motto Eret lived and fought by, and as he headed into the second Great War of the SMP, he didn't realise he'd see that motto proved true in front of his very eyes. 

Wilbur was a good leader. He was charismatic and brave, smart and strategic, listened to his men, gathered intel, and prepared accordingly. Always wanting for everyone to return home alive after a battle. 

His only fault? His pride. 

"I don't wear armour," he told Eret once, back when L'Manberg was still named L'Manberg and Eret was still considered a comrade, "I don't need it. I don't like it. I don't wear it." 

"That'll get you hurt one day," Eret remarked, "Or killed." Wilbur simply hummed in acknowledgement, but didn't seem to feel the need to continue the conversation further. The topic was dropped in favour of a comfortable silence, and never brought up again. Eret stood by what he said that day, even as he knelt on the balcony of a tower, crossbow aimed at the enemy scattered below. Wilbur stood adjacent to him, reloading his own crossbow. No armour. No shield. No defence. 

An arrow came flying upwards, the tip coated in a thick, orange liquid. It was a lucky shot, honestly. The trajectory was perfect, and almost impossible to replicate, as it embedded itself into Wilbur's stomach, end barely visible as the rest impaled him viciously. The rebellion leader let out a horrified yelp of pain, crashing backwards into the stone wall and fumbling to try and pull the projectile out. Eret continued to rain fire, until Wilbur's cries for help became harder to ignore and far more distressing. By the time he turned to help, Technoblade had already abandoned his position and rushed over, grabbing Wilbur by the shoulders and lowering him to a sitting position. He knelt over him, trying to get some sense out of the boy whose words were now nothing but a mix of pleas for help and incomprehensible wails. 

"FUCK! It's burning, why is it burning Techno? FUCK! FUCK! GET IT OUT, PLEASE!" Eret tried to ignore the conversation behind him, instead focusing on getting shots on Dream, who ran towards the buildings for cover. That was, until Techno began to speak. Not only did the fact that the usually cool, calm, and stoic Technoblade sounded like a frightened child grab his attention, but his words were very clearly in another language - one that seemed to soothe Wilbur, as he stopped panicking long enough to softly respond something in the same tongue. A couple clinks of glass bottles and the sound of an arrow being tossed to the side later, and Wilbur already seemed a lot calmer, albeit tired. Technoblade, on the other hand, still sounded worried, only returning to his post after a few (assumedly) reassuring words and encouragement from Wilbur, who in turn meekly crawled back to where he had dropped his crossbow next to Eret. Only this time he stayed low, and out of the line of fire. 

They say that curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it could've killed Eret, who took a momentary glance over at the injured man to ask, 

"What the hell kind of language was that?" 

Wilbur laughed weakly, drinking a healing potion, and tossing the bottle so it joined the other shattered on the ground. He responded,

"An old one." 

And, similarly to the conversation from way back when, Wilbur seemed to see no need in elaborating any further, and the topic was dropped once again. Eret fully intended to grill the man further after the battle, not realising that conversation would be the last words he’d ever exchange with his former President.

_("Calm down, please for the love of God, you're scarin' me half to death. What happened? Where are you hurt?"_

_"Arrow. Stomach. Burning. Flame. Help."_

_"I've got you. Drink this… Good. Good... Jesus Christ, this is why I tell you to wear armour. I even made you some! Back at the vault! Seriously, Will, War is dangerous, I’d know, and one day you’re gonna get an injury that I-"_

_"... 'm fine, Tec. Thank you. Go back and help Tommy."_

_"... You sure?"_

_"Yes. Go.")_

**+1: Tommy (and Philza)**

The War was over, and clean up had begun. 

L’Manberg was gone, nothing but a crater left in its wake. What hadn’t been rigged with TNT was subsequently blown up by Technoblade’s Withers, and now there was barely any evidence that a country had ever even existed. Wilbur had gotten his wish, in the end; the destruction of L’Manberg. And Techno had gotten his; the fall of the government. And now, the tyrannical duo were nothing but a distant memory.

One had been disgraced, seen as a traitor and forced to flee to the unforgiving North.

The other had been killed, by his father’s own hand, put out of his misery with no intention of respawning.

Wilbur’s death was hard on everyone. Despite the fact he pushed the button, most of his friends knew they couldn’t realistically blame the Wilbur they loved for making that decision. Phil, who’d come in at the last second - swooping down like an angel into the chaos - explained to everyone what he’d seen in Wilbur’s final moments.

“It wasn’t him,” he said once it was all over, head in hands as everyone tried desperately to process the fact that Wilbur was dead, and that his father was sitting in front of them confessing his guilt, “The boy in that room wasn’t my boy. He was too far gone... He begged me to kill him, shouting about how he was a monster and was better off dead. I had to... I...” He’d broken down in that moment, and everyone collectively agreed to avoid the topic from then on. 

Meeting Phil was a shock to everyone, as was learning that he was both Tommy and Wilbur’s adoptive father. Fundy was practically in pieces meeting his grandfather, who he didn’t even know existed, whilst also being horrified at the fact that Tommy was technically his Uncle. Tommy made fun of everyone for not realising that he and Wilbur were brothers, claiming they never hid it and surely it was obvious with how they acted and how well they knew each other. Looking back, it did make sense, but everyone had just never thought of it as a possibility, especially with how different the two looked. A couple had said they once thought they were distant cousins, but never brothers. 

Everyone in L’Manberg had been assigned different clean up duties, to keep things as efficient as possible. Phil, Tommy, Tubbo, Eret, Niki and Quackity had volunteered to help sort through the piles of old books, letters and documents Fundy had stored underneath his house. Whilst a couple had been damaged by the War and the Withers, most were unharmed. 

That led them to where they were now, sitting in the skeleton of Fundy’s former home surrounded by boxes of dusty books and stacks of yellowing paper. Idle chatter filled the air as things were sorted into categories - official documents and contracts, storybooks, junk, and Wilbur’s personal items, like letters. The fourth category was made after Quackity had stumbled upon an old letter addressed to Wilbur from a woman named Sally, which Fundy had tearfully taken, mumbling something about it being wrong to read about a man’s love life. Now, there was a small pile of books and letters in the corner that was silently growing bigger, as people would get up solemnly from where they sat to add to it every time they came across something with Will’s name or handwriting. It almost became a game - you knew when someone’s eyes would go glossy and only skim the contents of what was written that it was something soon to be added to the pile.

“Um, Phil?” Niki’s gentle voice broke the silence that'd settled over everyone as they worked, “I found a couple of letters addressed to Will, but I can’t understand them. It’s not his handwriting, I thought maybe they were from you? Or you’d recognise them?”

The older man took the papers she offered him with care, gently sorting through them. Everyone in the room was intrigued now, the few quiet conversations that’d sprung up coming to a pause as they watched Phil intently. He visibly sagged, a sad smile coming across his features. Tommy got up from where he and Tubbo were sat encircled by books, hopping over them and making his way across the room,

“What is it, Big Man?” he asked, the rest of the room following in his footsteps and approaching the scene - albeit a bit more delicately.

“Ah, it’s letters from Techno, I’m pretty sure they’re from back when he was running the Antarctic Empire. Look,” he brought out an envelope that was tucked between two of the pages that brandished a gorgeous blue wax seal. On it, was undeniably the symbol for the renowned Antarctic Empire, “It’s his seal. Not to mention I’m pretty sure this is Piglin.”

He held up the paper for everyone to see. Symbols lined the pages, causing everyone to frown in confusion - Piglin? Technoblade? Antarctic Empire? Only Tommy seemed to understand, as the boy groaned in frustration,

“Ohhhhh, of course it’s from that traitorous pig!" He exclaimed, crossing his eyes and frowning angrily at the letter, “Them and their fuckin’ Piglin, they did it so much when we were younger! ‘Ohhh look at us! We can speak another language that you can’t!’ Pricks.” Halfway through his temper tantrum, Phil had begun to laugh, even further confusing everyone else in the room,

“Tommy! They couldn’t speak English! What did you expect them to do?!”

“I know that, but still! It felt like they were always making fun of me!! It was so annoying, holy shit.”

“Hang on, hang on, _please_ ,” Fundy interrupted, voice cracking under the stress, “You two are talking about this like it’s common knowledge. Antarctic Empire? Piglin? When you were younger?” He paused for a second, realisation dawning on him as his face fell, “Don’t tell me Wilbur was related to Technoblade too.”

Phil and Tommy exchanged confused looks. 

“Uh, yeah?” Tommy laughed, “They were twins, man. Come on, everyone knew.” 

_(Everyone did, in fact, not know.)_

“TWINS?!” Quackity shouted, the rest too busy trying to pick their jaws up off of the floor to form a coherent sentence, “They looked nothing alike! NOTHING! TECHNOBLADE HAS PINK HAIR, SHARP TEETH AND POINTY EARS FOR GOD'S SAKES!” 

“Techno dyes his hair, Quackity,” Phil reached into his jacket pocket, fumbling for a second before pulling out an old, weathered photograph and holding it out for everyone to see, “Look, this is Techno,” he pointed to the photo, and everyone apart from Tommy huddled around to get a better look. It showed a young Phil, maybe early or mid-twenties, laughing as he held three boys in his arms, two who looked about fifteen and one who looked about seven. He had them all cocooned in his impressive wings, as if shielding them from any outside danger. The one he was pointing to was the tallest - a boy with straight brown hair, red eyes, pointed ears and an exasperated look on his face. “Wilbur,” he continued, pointing to the other brown haired boy in the picture. The two looked almost identical, the only real differences being the curly hair and dark eyes - even his ears were pointed, though they were less noticeable than the other boy’s, “And Tommy.” He finished, pointing to the youngest-looking blonde boy in the middle, who had a huge, toothy grin spread across his face and bright blue eyes scrunched up mid-laugh. 

“Oh shit…” Eret mumbled, glancing back and forth between the two twins. The more you looked, the more you could tell that they were Wilbur and Technoblade. “I guess we just never thought it was even a possibility. I don’t think I ever crossed my mind that Wilbur’s ears were like Technoblade’s.” 

Hums of agreement filled the room. Niki spoke up next, 

“I could tell they had a special bond, but I never would’ve imagined twins.” 

Phil chuckled, tucking the photo away again, “I guess it is a little hard to tell unless you’re really looking." 

“Wait a minute!” Tubbo yelled out, as if a lightbulb had just appeared over his head, “You said they spoke in Piglin, right Phil? As in, the language Piglin’s use to speak to each other?” 

“Yep. Piglin.” 

“And we all knew that Technoblade was at least some parts pig, right? So, does that mean he was part Piglin?" 

“From what I could tell when I found him, yes.” 

“So… Wilbur was _also_ part Piglin?” 

“... Yes?” 

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Fundy yelled, burying his head in his hands as Tommy burst out laughing. Eret took a seat on a nearby chair, pushing his sunglasses onto his head and taking a minute to process what he’d just been told. Niki frantically scanned the letters from Technoblade, wondering how she’d not recognised that it was Piglin all along. Tubbo and Quackity stood side by side, mouths once again hanging wide open as they were frozen in place. 

“Did you guys never hear them speak Piglin to each other?” Tommy wheezed, doubling over in hysterics, “They did it all the time! They were never subtle about it! Oh my god... and I thought you not realising me and Wilbur were related was the height of stupidity, this is brilliant!” 

As his laughter died down and the rest of the room slowly caught up with all the information dumped on them at once, they seemed to have a thousand questions they wanted to ask. Though one statement, from Niki, stood out over the rest, 

“I guess none of us knew Wilbur as well as we thought.” 

Phil smiled, tucking away the letters from Techno into his bag. 

“People only ever know the twins as much as they want you to know them,” he explained kindly, “I don’t think anyone will ever know those two as well as they did eachother.” 

“Not even you?” Eret asked softly. 

“Not even me,” the blonde man smiled, “I don’t know what life was like for them before I found them, and I don’t think I ever will. It’s just one of those things in life. Wilbur cared for and loved each of you very much, I’m sure, and I don’t believe for a second that he hid his family tree for any malicious reasons. Those two went through a lot, and I think he was always trying to run away from that side of him, and that part of his life. Techno understood that better than anyone, hence why they were always so in tune with each other’s emotions. Piglin was their escape, I suppose. Made them feel secure, knowing that no one was listening in to what they were saying to each other.” He sighed, looking down at the floor, “I’m sorry none of you got to say goodbye. I’m sure he’s somewhere watching us, laughing at your reactions to the news.” 

Everyone giggled at that, some smiling through tears that had escaped during Phil’s speech. A gust of wind blew through the open windows, disturbing a few loose papers that now surfed the breeze calmly. The cold seeped into everyone’s bones, but it wasn’t unpleasant, or unwelcoming. It was eerily comforting, wrapping each one of them in a blanket of familiarity. 

Like a final goodbye from an old friend. 

**Author's Note:**

> another thing i wrote over like a few days hhhh,, i just like the idea of wilbur and techno being twins and speaking piglin to each other around their clueless friends. also i didnt really know how to end it so i hope its not underwhelming haha;; tysm for reading!!


End file.
